


What Do You Say (When There's No More Buffer)

by NovaEmlyn



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anger, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Heartbreak, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Rejection, Tension, The feels, no beta we die like men, unrequited love (or is it?)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23649559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovaEmlyn/pseuds/NovaEmlyn
Summary: After the Apocalypse that wasn't, Crowley feels like it is the perfect moment to finally ask what he has wanted to ask for years. Aziraphale fears that Heaven and Hell may come back for them and kill them, so he makes sure Crowley never asks again, as much as it hurts him. Crowley does not react well to rejection.[THIS IS ABANDONED AND WILL MOST LIKELY NOT BE CONTINUED]
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a roleplay, not a fanfiction! My role is Aziraphale, the person playing Crowley asked to remain anonymous.  
> Replies will be separated like this: =========================  
> Rated 'Teens and Up Audiences' for swearing and violence.  
> About 6 replies per chapter.

They had stopped Armageddon. They had succeeded in protecting the earth.

Hell, they had even survived their respective executions.

Sitting here now, next to his angel, Crowley thinks over everything. They had essentially risked everything for this moment and right now, in The Ritz, it seemed like a perfect time to ask again.

The demon lifts his champagne glass, trying to collect his courage. They had just toasted to "the world" and Aziraphale had the most warm expression on his face that Crowley couldn't really help himself.

"And to our own side," he adds at the end, free hand reaching for the angel's. The angel would know what that means.  
================================================================  
Aziraphale would have said this was Heaven, but no, it was way better. It was like everything was fine now. They'd won, at last, and they'd finally got that diner at The Ritz. Undisturbed and with no need to hide. Everything was perfect.

The angel beamed at Crowley, holding his glass up, his heart fluttering in his chest. His eyes fell on his friend's hand. It was an offer, Aziraphale knew exactly what the demon was asking, and his face faltered a bit. "Crowley, I...", he began, unsure of how to say this in the most polite way possible. The time was perfect, he'd expected Crowley to ask soon, but... he was afraid. Of what would happen if it didn't work out and they lost each other forever. If he accidentally hurt Crowley. If he didn't live up to his standards, couldn't make him as happy as he made him. Oh, Lord... what if their respective sides came back for them? The trick they had pulled was effective, yet easy to see through, given enough time. They were a threat, and if Gabriel, anyone, God herself even hurt Crowley... that would not be a life worth living.

Aziraphale slowly put his glass down and turned to his friend. "Crowley, my dear. I'm so sorry." He really was. His heart ached at the thought of rejecting the demon again. "I can't. I know what you're asking and I just- I can't."  
================================================================  
The gentle smile Crowley had managed to muster up faded at the words. 

[Crowley, I...]

The tone carried the answer. Honestly, the blond didn't even need to follow up with the apology, or anything for that matter.

But he takes the rest of his answer, feeling... Feeling some sort of way. 

He had been so certain that Aziraphale had only held back because of his head office, that he ultimately returned the feelings, that he didn't think that there was still any reason to he would still hold back. 

Maybe- "Why not?" He asked softly, hating how hurt it sounded. Aziraphale's rejections always hurt, but Crowley always understood why. Now however, he felt there was nothing stopping them and to be rejected again brought not just pain but doubt for the first time. /Have I been mistaken?/ 

"You know Heaven and Hell won't bother us anymore, right Angel?" Satan, he hates how this sounds like a fucking plea. "We... We don't have to hide it anymore."  
================================================================  
Aziraphale's heart shattered into a million pieces at the sight in front of him. Even through the sunglasses, he could see the hurt and disappointment in Crowley's eyes. He never wanted to see him like this, let alone cause these feelings in him.

The angel's mouth opened and closed, forming syllables that all seemed wrong. Too strong or not strong enough. This had to be the last time, Aziraphale didn't think he could handle rejecting his friend one more time in the future. He might as well combust.

"I know, my dear, It's just..." Oh, what was he doing? He could see how much it hurt Crowley, but he had to make his stance clear. If he kept asking, Aziraphale would eventually give in. That would be the end of them both. It would just be a matter of time until the angel would feel the fires of Hell and Crowley would take a dip in holy water. They were a danger to their respective offices, but maybe if they acted like they were separate... 

"It just cannot be, Crowley. I'm sorry."

================================================================  
“But /why?”/ he asked again, this time tone taking on something of confusion, or frustration. “Angel, if you know, then why?” Was there something else that he was missing? Something he just didn’t understand?

More than anything, he /needed/ to understand. Had to. This was a new type of rejection and he was fearful of its implication. 

“If there’s something else you’re just not telling, I think I should know.”  
================================================================  
Aziraphale stared into his lap, his breath shaky. People were starting to look. Crowley expected an explanation, but he didn't have one. He couldn't give Crowley what he wanted, couldn't even look at him. His throat felt like it was sewn shut. The demon's voice felt piercing in his ear, even though he knew it was more like a whisper.

Aziraphale pulled his chair back in a quick, clumsy motion and stormed out the door. It was too much.

"I can't", he whispered to himself once he was outside. He wanted to sit but couldn't afford to get his suit filthy. His head spun. "I can't." His hands were wet. He clenched and unclenched his trembling hands, feeling like the world was too bright to look at. This did not go as planned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Criticism is gladly accepted by the way! Negative, positive, as long as It's constructive I'll take it.

/Shit./

The next thing the demon knew was that Aziraphale was up and running out. /You pushed him too much, you IDIOT./

Worry gnaws at Crowley’s gut and he stood after him, snapping his fingers before anyone would assume a dine and dash and hurried his way out with the angel. He can barely hear the whisper, though to him it’s wasn’t discernable. 

“Angel! Angel, wait-” Again, his stupid heart just didn’t understand boundaries. His hand moved on it’s own accord, gently grasping one of the blond’s clenched hands, warm and comforting.

What can he say? What does that reaction /mean?/ “Angel, please. Just- explain to me what I’m /missing/ and maybe we can figure something out-” Pathetic. He sounds so pathetic, but if Aziraphale felt threatened, or if there was something else he needed to know, he couldn’t let the angel keep it to himself.  
================================================================  
Aziraphale felt pressure around his hand, and he couldn't breathe. He instinctively snatched his hand away. Crowley stood in front of him, begging, pleading, thinking they could make it work. The angel got all of his remaining self control together to stop himself from tearing up.

"You're a demon!", he finally snapped, his voice breaking. He just didn't know what else to say, he couldn't keep Crowley away. "We're not meant for each other, this- this just isn't right!" 

His heart dropped at his harsh words - harsh for his standards at least -. The angel held the hand Crowley had grabbed as if he had burned him.

"You're not good... for me."  
================================================================  
The way Aziraphale pulled away from him- like Crowley was some dirty thing, something lesser. He's never been treated like this, not by HIS angel. It was one of the few reasons he liked- no, loved- Aziraphale. What set him apart from the other pricks in his lot.

["You're a demon!"]

Aziraphale says it with such digust, like he's been bottling it up for some time, and he could no longer refute fact. 

He saw the way the angel gripped at his own hand, felt the disgust at himself for some irrational reason. He could hardly hear the words, but then he heard ["You're not good for me."]

"So that's it, huh?" Crowley's own voice sounded foreign even to himself. "All of that risk, all of that friendship bullshit-" he thinks over everything in their relationship. Surely Aziraphale is lying, lying to himself.

"Nah, you don't... You don't believe that, not really," he plastered a half smile, because he thinks he can prove the angel wrong. "You do it all the time, you did it before, at the bandstand- saying you don't like me. But you /do."/  
================================================================  
The angel's lip trembled. He already regretted having said this, to make Crowley doubt the past millennia. He didn't deserve this, the demon deserved everything good in the world and more. That's why Aziraphale couldn't be with him.

He was right, he did not mean it. It disgusted him to speak with his best friend this way, the person he trusted most. To think that he was breaking Crowley's heart on purpose when all he wanted was to take his face in his hands, but...

"I have no reason to lie anymore, do I?"

He hated this. Crowley tried to convince both him and himself that this was not happening, that maybe the angel would change his mind. Oh, how Aziraphale wished he could. To make this less painful for Crowley. But he couldn't, had to make certain he'd never ask again.  
================================================================  
That was the sentence that would spread the infection. Because Crowley could see no reason why Aziraphale would lie. 

And the angel was right. He no longer has a reason to, not that Crowley sees anyways, but the more he looked over the angel, the more he noticed the little details.

Aziraphale looked like he regretted everything to do with Crowley. And it gutted the demon thinking that all this time...

"Well- Well what the /point,/ then!?" He shouts, refusing to show anymore weakness. "What was the bloody *point* of all this stupid fight for the humans?" He marched forward, grabbing at the front of the angel's shirt and pulling him in close in an attempt to show just a fraction of anger but like always, he'd never hurt him. "You have no reason to lie anymore? Tell me why you lied at /all."/

It was his last ditch effort to search for the validity of such words. But the more he scanned those pale blue eyes the more he just say regret and honesty. 

It leaves Crowley drained. He let's go of Aziraphale, taking a few steps away, before tucking his hand into his pocket. His expression was stoic, mind unable to process it all. "Right then. You're just like the rest of your lot, in the end? Think all you angels are holier-than-thou than us demons?"  
================================================================  
Aziraphale knew no answer to any of this. He didn't think this through, and he didn't have it in him to explicitly tell Crowley that 6000 years of friendship were fake. To say 'yes, I lied to you and you mean nothing to me'. The angel closed his eyes, couldn't stand to look at Crowley. He let out a shaky breath and muttered a weak; 

"I'm sorry."

They were different. That was why their friendship worked so well. Crowley was a terrible demon, and Aziraphale was a terrible angel. To be compared to the rest of them, to Gabriel, Uriel, all those vile people who tormented them both for ages, it let Aziraphale know he really hurt the demon. He wrapped his arms around himself weakly, a tear finally making its way down his cheek. The angel turned so Crowley would not see. He had to believe it.


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley stared, cursing the stupid human body for it's reaction to emotional pain. His chest hurt, his eyes burned. Bloody hell, how was love a creation of Heaven when it could this devastating to humans?

"No, no, don't apologise," he said at last, finally walking away. His tone carried the fake understanding. "You're an angel! You're just telling the truth!" He turned to face him in a false bravado, and he exclaimed, "Right. So- You won't be hearing from me anymore! Wouldn't want to spoil that /holiness/ of yours!"

People had begun to stop, stare at the odd couple fighting. Crowley wanted to hurt Aziraphale then, drive a point home- but Aziraphale wasn't even facing him, and he breathes out his nose and turned away.

/You're not good for me./

He growled to himself, snapping loudly as he marched to his Bentley. Without waiting, unable to wait, he speeds off, leaving the angel behind.  
================================================================  
The demon's name was on the tip of Aziraphale's tongue, yet didn't quite make it out. He watched as Crowley backed away, yelling at him from afar, and his vision blurred with tears.

God, he was so selfish! He could have told Crowley what he was thinking, the demon always knew what to do when there was a problem. He would have told him it was fine, showed him that is was. They could have been... something. But Aziraphale was so bloody self-absorbed that he hurt his friend enough to never talk to him again. Aziraphale walked into the direction that Crowley drove in once he was gone. 

Crowley always gave him a lift when they went out. Now, he didn't really know how to get back home. He ran a hand through his hair, sobbing, and pulled in a burst of frustration. For the first time in ages, he swore, even though he had no right to. He brought this upon himself, upon Crowley. Crowley was gone and Aziraphale doubted he was ever coming back, so he had condemned himself to a lifetime alone. After working toward a future with Crowley for so long. Had he lost his mind? What the fuck was he thinking?

He walked through the streets until he saw a cab, which he entered in silence, apart from telling the driver his address with as normal of a voice as he could muster. When the man asked if he was alright, he did not respond.  
================================================================  
For the first time in a long, long while, the Bentley played no songs. It didn't seem appropriate to, not with it's owner speeding through the streets like Hell was on his heels. When he arrived at his flat, he remained in his car, before slamming the wheel in anger and letting out a frustrated shout.

/Fuck everything about Heaven and Hell./  
\-----  
It's no secret that Crowley turned to alcohol when upset. When he thought his best friend perished in the flames, Aziraphale had caught him basically giving up on living. He was prepared to go down with the earth.

Now, though, this was no death. Just a really harsh reality check and rejection. Meaning he'd need something stronger than just whiskey or bourbon.

He spends the first few days drunk in his home, threatening plants (and maybe waiting for Aziraphale to call and take it back), before deciding that if he was really no good- well he should be up to no good!

Following a week after the fallout, Crowley finds himself driving about aimlessly. He was looking for the seediest, nastiest, sin infested bar, and if he had to play a hand in it, he would.

In fact, maybe the time called for some mayhem. Crowley /felt/ like was he was stain on this planet, spreading quietly throughout the buildings. To hell with it all. Let it all burn, let the humans destroy themselves.

Whenever he got close to the bookshop though that feeling grew worse- more than anything he wanted those bloody books to burn, to light aflame just so the angel would have an inkling of the pain he felt. He imagined the building collapsing- want to see the look of pain on Aziraphale's face, see if he understood what /not good/ meant.  
================================================================  
The incident changed Aziraphale. Food seemed like the least desirable thing to him, it reminded him of The Ritz. Not just the time he was there about a week ago, but every time he shared time with Crowley while eating. Having a drink in Rome, snacking on pastries in his shop while the sun set, ice cream on hot summer afternoons. He definitely conditioned himself to despise eating, knowing he would always do it alone from now on. As a result, Aziraphale became slimmer. His beloved suit no longer fit him, though he refused to buy a new one. Still, the fabric felt saggy and inconvenient now, so he left the jacket in the wardrobe.

The angel looked way too fancy for his mood. To be frank, he felt like shit, there was no denying it. He wanted to drop on his bed and sleep for a couple decades like Crowley did a while back, but he was lucid. Paired with the fact that he'd never slept before and didn't really know what needed to be done, he was still replaying his own words in his head. Crowley's face, him pleading to reconsider. He had been so stupid, and selfish, and- God, what was it with the ambulances today?! One after another they buzzed by, ringing in his ears. The angel wouldn't have minded before, people needed to be saved, bla bla. Now, everything irked him and he wanted nothing more than to disappear. In pain, ideally. He deserved it, didn't he? After all the pain he'd brought on the person he cared about most, a quick death would just be unfair. Aziraphale was a bloody coward, though, and wouldn't dare take matters into his own hands. He'd just wait, sitting out the guilt until it devoured him.  
================================================================  
Reports of gas leaks littered the news. People were complaining of headaches, ill symptoms and concerns. Not that it would affect occult creature, not that Crowley would care-

No, right now he was inebriated, stumbling from one bar to the next. Walking and stumbling and just feeling sick fit the mood and Crowley let himself get lost in it.

He vaguely recognizes the area- Aziraphale's bookshop was close and honestly in this state, he could easily bloody well go over and give him a piece of his-

"Well, well, well, look what we have here~"

He looked up to see some blond punk leering at him. Crowley looked around. Oof. In alley, it seems. When had he gotten here?

"Nice watch you got there," the human started to circle him, and it's then Crowley had an understanding of what was about to happen. "You need help with that? Looks mighty heavy."

A glance over and immediately Crowley decided he didn't like this bloke. Looked too angelic for the shit he was pulling.

Crowley only inhaled, sobering up just a little bit. This kid wanted cause trouble? He'd give it to him. 

"Come on," the human must think he's intimidating, because he pulled the demon closer into the alley. "Give it here, you little-"

The strike was a quick as a viper, intense and painful. The blond stumbled back and for a brief moment Crowley /swore/ he saw Aziraphale, and damn it all, didn't he take enough from him already?!

He grabbed the human before he ran off, not caring that his shades fell off and the human was now a ball of nerves, panicked at the sight of inhuman eyes. 

Crowley should've stopped. Ended it there, but this bastard with blue eyes was just barely understanding his pain and he wanted to give more. 

/SMACK. SMACK. SMACK./

Bruised eyes, split lip. These images were something he'd never wish on his angel, never ever want to cause himself, but Satan help him, this human looked just perfect with it.

Crowley heard a rib, and it's not enough. "How do you like that, eh angel?!"  
================================================================  
Tea was always good, right? It didn't count as food, not exactly. Aziraphale lifted himself from his sofa, which had developed an indent from him sitting there all day, and forced himself to walk to his kitchen. Although he weighed less, it was infinitely harder to get his body to move. He filled his kettle with water and stared out the window while waiting for the water to boil. In the reflection of the glass, he could see that the candle on his table had almost burned down. Ah, shit, he must have left it on overnight. He watched as the small flame flickered and he could have sworn he heard someone saying 'Angel', along with a hissing sound. The flame of the candle seemed to shoot toward him in the blink of an eye.

The angel could just barely duck cover his eyes before scorching heat enveloped him. He stayed like this for a bit too long before realising that he was not imagining things. His feet were covered in glass shards and he had hit his head on the wall. The skin on his hands and forearms was, well, there was almost none left. And of course, most of the shop had to be made of fucking wood, because it immediately caught fire.

Aziraphale jumped to his feet, adrenaline surging through him. His first thought was a blanket. He stormed back to his couch and grabbed a large, plaid-styled blanket off it... The fire spread quickly. The angel took what was left of his sleeve and covered his mouth while trying to throw the blanket over the flame that covered his table. The blanket, of fucking course, caught fire itself. Aziraphale looked around frantically, beginning to cough. Water. Surely there was a bucket around here somewhere. He ran back to the kitchen, where, for a moment, he saw just how far the shards of his windows shot away, and muttered a weak "Oh Lord". Under the sink, he could have sworn there was a bucket here. Smoke filled the shop and Aziraphale's peripheral vision got smaller. 

He ran to the bathroom, not once thinking of leaving without at least having tried to save his home. The smoke wasn't so thick here, but it soon dawned on him that there was no way he was putting all of this out. Finally, he found a little plastic bucket in the cupboard and filled it up with the showerhead. Fuck. When it was full, the smoke made it impossible to see. The only light that reached the angel's eyes were that of the sparkling flames as they devoured everything he'd ever loved. Well, almost everything. Aziraphale kept coughing, tossing his water in random directions, but soon stopped. He couldn't breathe, his eyes were burning, everything burned and soon, his vision turned black.


	4. Chapter 4

Imagination is a powerful thing. It was the one thing Crowley prided himself, having only his imagination to feed the warmth he sought from the angel. In his onslaught, he almost perfectly saw Aziraphale take his place, but a sound catches his attention and he stopped only then.

Shattered glass. It was enough to jar him out of his rage and he dropped the human, who lay wheezing before him.

/You're not good for me./

The words floated in his head, loud and clear, and it didn't help that there was just- a bad feeling with that.

"Angel," it's a statement, not even a sentence, but he abandons the human and turns to find the source of the sound.  
\-----  
/No, no, no, nonono-/

His imagination was something he prided himself with. He vividly remembered the flames, and this was too close, too familiar.

/He's not in there, no way he's-/ but of course Crowley marched in without another second wasted.

He doesn't call the angel. No way he would be here, just like last time, no, he's safe and he'll probably call Crowley, and they'll all have a nice laugh about it.

He stopped when a flame got dangerously close, and he /saw/ blond. "Angel!" He rushed forward, worry gripping his throat now. The angel was out it seemed, weak, /injured,/ and Crowley had to stop thinking. 

He picked up the blond, ignoring how light Aziraphale was. That wasn't important. Crowley would think on this later but right now he began walking half carrying half dragging his best friend with him.  
================================================================  
While unconscious, Aziraphale experienced something he never thought he would - he dreamed. Crowley had told him about dreams, tried his best to explain it to the angel, who had never even slept before. Aziraphale understood, though couldn't really imagine what it was like. It felt like floating, Crowley had said. And it did. 

Aziraphale recognised pain, pressure, even a voice speaking, though he couldn't say if it was directed at him. It was all there, but out of reach. He couldn't feel it, only knew of its existence. After a few seconds, however, it hit him all at once.

Arms were wrapped around him, digging into exposed, burnt flesh, while his own arms dangled uselessly at his sides. Aziraphale groaned in pain but lacked the strength to get on his feet. His lungs felt like they were filled with sand. His vision was a blur of blacks and oranges. He wasn't dead, that was for sure, and somehow he didn't discorporate either. Discorporation was painless, but right now it was like the flames were still around him, licking the skin right off his body. 

Aziraphale felt in pain and numb at the same time. He tried to speak, call out for someone, anyone, but no sounds would leave his throat except for an occasional, weak cough. Soon, blue mixed into his vision. The angel would have shielded his eyes from the sun if he had any energy left in him. There was none. Aziraphale's brain was fuzzy, barely functioning enough to make him breathe. Maybe he was going to die, but the arms around him never let go. He took a bit of comfort in that.  
================================================================  
"Aziraphale," Crowley grunted, ignoring as someone shouted at them. They offered to help, but Crowley waved a wand and sent them away, before finally, arriving to his car and snapping it open.

He nearly drops Aziraphale down onto the passenger seat, but he doesn't leave. No, he kneeled before him, using the car door as a sort of shield and assessed the damage.

/His arms./ They were nasty looking, painful. Crowley felt himself suck in a breath and he debated snapping his fingers to fix that up. Hell might have an issue-

/Our side./

Crowley swallows and hesitantly snapped his fingers- firm and loud and he waits to see the damage heal.  
================================================================  
Aziraphale hears his name. It echoes in his mind, and the angel had a hunch. He forced his eyes open, and the world was suddenly too bright, too loud, too painful. Moving just the tiniest bit sent waves of pain through him. "Fuck", the angel breathed, clenching his jaw. He was in a car, it seemed, and his own weight pressed down on him, making him feel sluggish. 

His eyes flicked around, and his heart caught in his throat. A Queen album rested in the open glove compartment. Aziraphale recognised the colours of the car. He tilted his head as much as his pain allowed him and stared into bright yellow eyes. They did not look back, instead, they examined his burnt arm. 

"Crowley", the angel whispered, voice barely audible. The realisation hit him. Crowley had saved his life. After everything he said, after the pain Aziraphale caused him... he came back. Aziraphale felt the pain of his throbbing flesh ease as the demon snapped his fingers. His arm still looked disfigured, scarred, but the pain was gone. The angel moved his fingers just a bit. He breathed in and exhaled in a cough. "Thank you."

Where should he even start? Why did Crowley come back for him? And how do you even ask for forgiveness when you've been such a terrible person? Aziraphale didn't have the energy to think straight. He simply gave Crowley the most appreciative look he could muster and prayed that he wouldn't leave him after healing him.  
================================================================  
Crowley mentally cursed himself when nothing more happened. The arm still looked pretty messed up, and now he was beginning to regret having helped. They were too close, he could see the damage and just a moment ago he was slamming into a blonde who was a perfect stand in for the angel.

And Aziraphale just /thanked/ him. 

He swallowed at thought, wanting to hide and be there all at once. He didn't hear the sirens that passed by, too hyper aware of the state of the angel before him.

Aziraphale was so skinny. He softness was something Crowley appreciated, but it's gone and he wondered if it had something to do with him. 

"Erm- you..." It clicked then was holding onto the longer than necessary and he let go, standing. "Sorry."

/What are you apologising for?/

"I can't fix it completely..."  
================================================================  
Aziraphale's eyes slowly got used to the brightness of the outside and he was able to make out more details. Details of the shop. The angel's face fell in horror. Smoke rose from the building, puffing out the windows and from under the door. It threatened to collapse. All the books were gone, everything he owned. Aziraphale bit down on his lip, taking a deep breath. This was bad. He was alive, and Crowley was there, but... he decided to worry about it later.

Aziraphale adjusted his position to look at Crowley, testing out how much his arms could bear. The skin was rough and bumpy, but did not tear when he moved. He felt his throat clearing a bit. "Sorry?", the angel repeated, eyebrows knitting. What could Crowley possibly be sorry for? Aziraphale was the one who should be apologising. "Dear, you saved my life." He wanted to reach out, smile at the demon, anything, but it was difficult to make out what Crowley was thinking. "Crowley", he began slowly, as if a wrong word could destroy everything again. Because it could. "I do not expect you to forgive me, but is it possible that we talk about last week?" He didn't want Crowley to feel pressured. If he was still mad, Aziraphale understood. In fact, it would be a miracle if this little incident suddenly changed his feelings. The angel just needed him to know the truth, even if Crowley was unable to forgive him.


	5. Chapter 5

At the words, Crowley shifted uncomfortably. He was still taking in the angel's state, his mind silently placing and matching some of the wounds.

/You did this./

Imagination is a hell of a thing. /You saved my life,/ but he was the one who endangered it.

And then he mentions last week. What happened. And suddenly he most certainly does not want to know what he has to say. Crowley just proved him right. He was bad for him.

Crowley looked back at the flames and silent in thought. These were his things. Aziraphale's livelihood in a sense. "...maybe later," he muttered at last, moving around the car. "We should focus on you, and you probably don't want to look at that." He sat at the driver's seat, looking over to the angel. "... I'll take you to my flat and we can figure out the rest from there."  
================================================================  
Aziraphale tore his gaze away from the flames and over to his friend, who walked around the car to get in. He was feeling all sorts of emotions and didn't know which ones to prioritise. The sight of his shop saddened and confused him, he didn't even know what caused the fire or if anything remained. Crowley's discomfort brought up his guilt again, but his actions sparked gratitude and so, so much affection for the demon that it hurt Aziraphale to keep his distance. He had just a glimmer of hope that everything would be fine in the end, but worried what he would do if that were not the case. And on top of that, he was so exhausted that he could have fallen asleep right then and there in the car if everything else didn't keep his heart at a pace he assumed was unhealthy.

Aziraphale returned his friend's look with slightly glossy eyes. "Oh, you're too good to me, Crowley." He didn't deserve this. The healing, the care, being taken home, Crowley's mere presence right now was way beyond the realm of things he deserved. The angel let his gaze linger for a bit longer before looking into his lap, following Crowley's advice and not taking in the extent of the damage.  
================================================================  
"Stop," the word comes harsh, despite how he whispered it. "Just stop, Aziraphale." 

Good, bad, he didn't want to hear those words in relation to him. He can't hear it, not without thinking how true Aziraphale's words earlier that week turned out to be.

He started the car, and began driving away. Let the humans deal with the fire.  
\----  
He takes the angel to his flat, has him seat on a sofa, where at least the sound of people were far away, the air was cool, and Crowley could properly focus on the extent of damage.

"Let me try with your arms again," he said softly, gently taking one to his hand. He snapped his fingers, silently hoping Hell truly meant what they said about leaving them alone.  
================================================================  
The angel's head moved up again, startled. This is what he'd done. Crowley would never listen to him - not that Aziraphale deserved his attention anyway. He resisted the urge to apologise and looked straight ahead, watching as London zoomed by.

Crowley should have just left him. He was so hurt and now he had the burden of taking care of Aziraphale, hearing his voice and understanding only the words he'd said that day at The Ritz.  
\-----  
The words were always there, lurking in the very back of his throat, pushing to be spoken. He needed Crowley to understand he was sorry, but he wouldn't listen. Perhaps it truly was for the best to let it sit for a bit. Aziraphale forced his mouth shut. His eyes studied his arms. No changes. The angel bit his lip, confused, worried, uncertain. He let out a sigh, looking at Crowley.  
================================================================  
When nothing happened, it worried Crowley. It wasn't like it was Hellfire, so why was it taking forever to him to miracle something better??

He felt stupid, snapping his fingers, and watching as nothing happened, guilt gripping him all over again. He hurt him. He hurt Aziraphale, and now he couldn't fix his mistake-

At the sound of the sigh, he snapped, without thinking "I'm /trying!"/

To him, that was a sound of disappointment, that Crowley again didn't meet the angel's stupid standards. He snapped his fingers over and over, trying to will the arms better. "But that's all I can do, and I'm /sorry,/ okay?"  
================================================================  
It didn't take Aziraphale long to realise how he must have sounded. "No, I didn't mean it like that- It's fine", he babbled, trying so hard to make the atmosphere less tense. It was all so much. "Look", the angel said calmly, "I'm not mad at you. I'm just frustrated, that's all. A lot has happened, but none of it was your fault."

Aziraphale maintained eye contact, hoping to somehow convey that he wasn't disgusted by Crowley, that he wasn't any of the things he said he was, that Crowley was enough. God, he was more than enough, words couldn't even begin to describe it.


End file.
